of the atrocious, though natural, consequences of war, occurring
almost within our own day, that I would not omit. Let me bring to your
mind Genoa, called the Superb, City of Palaces, dear to the memory of
American childhood as the birthplace of Christopher Columbus, and one
of the spots first enlightened by the morning beams of civilization,
whose merchants were princes, and whose rich argosies, in those early
days, introduced to Europe the choicest products of the East, the
linen of Egypt, the spices of Arabia, and the silks of Samarcand.
She still sits in queenly pride, as she sat then,--her mural crown
studded with towers,--her churches rich with marble floors and rarest
pictures,--her palaces of ancient doges and admirals yet spared by
the hand of Time,--her close streets thronged by a hundred thousand
inhabitants,--at the foot of the Apennines, as they approach the blue
and tideless waters of the Mediterranean Sea,--leaning her back
against their strong mountain-sides, overshadowed by the foliage
of the fig-tree and the olive, while the orange and the lemon with
pleasant perfume scent the air where reigns perpetual spring. Who can
contemplate such a city without delight? Who can listen to the story of
her sorrows without a pang?
At the opening of the present century, the armies of the French
Republic, after dominating over Italy, were driven from their
conquests, and compelled, with shrunken forces, to find shelter under
Massena, within the walls of Genoa. Various efforts were made by the
Austrian general, aided by bombardment from the British fleet, to
force the strong defences by assault. At length the city was invested
by a strict blockade. All communication with the country was cut off,
while the harbor was closed by the ever-wakeful British watch-dogs of
war. Besides the French troops, within the beleaguered and unfortunate
city are the peaceful, unoffending inhabitants. Provisions soon become
scarce; scarcity sharpens into want, till fell Famine, bringing
blindness and madness in her train, rages like an Erinnys. Picture
to yourselves this large population, not pouring out their lives in
the exulting rush of battle, but wasting at noonday, daughter by the
side of mother, husband by the side of wife. When grain and rice fail,
flaxseed, millet, cocoa, and almonds are ground by hand-mills into
flour, and even bran, baked with honey, is eaten, less to satisfy than
to deaden hunger. Before the last extremities, a pound of horse-flesh
is sold for thirty-two cents, a pound of bran for thirty cents, a pound
of flour for one dollar and seventy-five cents. A single bean is soon
sold for two cents, and a biscuit of three ounces for two dollars and
a quarter, till finally none can be had at any price. The wretched
soldiers, after devouring the horses, are reduced to the degradation
of feeding on dogs, cats, rats, and worms, which are eagerly hunted in
cellars and sewers. "Happy were now," exclaims an Italian historian,
"not those who lived, but those who died!" The day is dreary from
hunger,--the night more dreary still, from hunger with delirious
fancies. They now turn to herbs,--dock, sorrel, mallows, wild succory.
People of every condition, with women of noble birth and beauty, seek
upon the slope of the mountain within the defences those aliments which
Nature designed solely for beasts. Scanty vegetables, with a scrap of
cheese, are all that can be afforded to the sick and wounded, those
sacred stipendiaries of human charity. In the last anguish of despair,
men and women fill the air with groans and shrieks, some in spasms,
convulsions, and contortions, yielding their expiring breath on the
unpitying stones of the street,--alas! not more unpitying than man.
Children, whom a dead mother's arms had ceased to protect, orphans of
an hour, with piercing cries, supplicate in vain the compassion of the
passing stranger: none pity or aid. The sweet fountains of sympathy
are all closed by the selfishness of individual distress. In the
general agony, some precipitate themselves into the sea, while the more
impetuous rush from the gates, and impale their bodies on the Austrian
bayonets. Others still are driven to devour their shoes and the leather
of their pouches; and the horror of human flesh so far abates, that
numbers feed like cannibals on the corpses about them.[28]
[28] This account is drawn from the animated sketches of Botta (Storia
d' Italia dal 1789 al 1814, Tom. III. Lib. 19), Alison (History of
Europe, Vol. IV. ch. 30), and Arnold (Modern History, Lect. IV.). The
humanity of the last is particularly aroused to condemn this most
atrocious murder of innocent people, and, as a sufficient remedy, he
suggests a modification of the Laws of War, permitting non-combatants
to withdraw from a blockaded town! In this way, indeed, they may
be spared a languishing death by starvation; but they must desert
firesides, pursuits, all that makes life dear, and become homeless
exiles,--a fate little better than the former. It is strange that
Arnold's pure soul and clear judgment did not recognize the truth,
that the whole custom of war is unrighteous and unlawful, and that
the horrors of this siege are its natural consequence. Laws of War!
Laws in what is lawless! rules of wrong! There can be only _one Law of
War_,--that is, the great law which pronounces it unwise, unjust, and
unchristian.
At this stage the French general capitulated, claiming and receiving
what are called "the honors of war,"--but not before twenty thousand
innocent persons, old and young, women and children, having no part
or interest in the contest, had died the most horrible of deaths. The
Austrian flag floated over captured Genoa but a brief span of time; for
Bonaparte had already descended like an eagle from the Alps, and in
nine days afterwards, on the plains of Marengo, shattered the Austrian
empire in Italy.
* * * * *
But wasted lands, famished cities, and slaughtered armies are not all
that is contained in "the purple testament of bleeding war." Every
soldier is connected with others, as all of you, by dear ties of
kindred, love, and friendship. He has been sternly summoned from the
embrace of family. To him there is perhaps an aged mother, who fondly
hoped to lean her bending years on his more youthful form; perhaps a
wife, whose life is just entwined inseparably with his, now condemned
to wasting despair; perhaps sisters, brothers. As he falls on the field
of war, must not all these rush with his blood? But who can measure the
distress that radiates as from a bloody sun, penetrating innumerable
homes? Who can give the gauge and dimensions of this infinite sorrow?
Tell me, ye who feel the bitterness of parting with dear friends and
kindred, whom you watch tenderly till the last golden sands are run
out and the great hour-glass is turned, what is the measure of your
anguish? Your friend departs, soothed by kindness and in the arms of
Love: the soldier gasps out his life with no friend near, while the
scowl of Hate darkens all that he beholds, darkens his own departing
soul. Who can forget the anguish that fills the bosom and crazes the
brain of Lenore, in the matchless ballad of Bürger, when seeking in
vain among returning squadrons for her lover left dead on Prague's
ensanguined plain? But every field of blood has many Lenores. All war
is full of desolate homes, as is vividly pictured by a master poet of
antiquity, whose verse is an argument.
"But through the bounds of Grecia's land,
Who sent her sons for Troy to part,
See mourning, with much suffering heart,
On each man's threshold stand,
On each sad hearth in Grecia's land.
Well may her soul with grief be rent;
She well remembers whom she sent,
She sees them not return:
Instead of men, to each man's home
Urns and ashes only come,
And the armor which they wore,--
Sad relics to their native shore.
For Mars, the barterer of the lifeless clay,
Who sells for gold the slain,
_And holds the scale, in battle's doubtful day,
High balanced o'er the plain_,
From Ilium's walls for men returns
Ashes and sepulchral urns,--
Ashes wet with many a tear,
Sad relics of the fiery bier.
Round the full urns the general groan
Goes, as each their kindred own:
And one that 'mid the armed throng
He sunk in glory's slaughtering tide,
And for another's consort died.
* * * * *
Others they mourn whose monuments stand
By Ilium's walls on foreign strand;
Where they fell in beauty's bloom,
There they lie in hated tomb,
Sunk beneath the massy mound,
In eternal chambers bound."[29]
[29] Agamemnon of Æschylus: _Chorus_. This is from the beautiful
translation by John Symmons.
III.
But all these miseries are to no purpose. War is utterly ineffectual
to secure or advance its professed object. The wretchedness it entails
contributes to no end, helps to establish no right, and therefore in no
respect determines _justice_ between the contending nations.
The fruitlessness and vanity of war appear in the great conflicts by
which the world has been lacerated. After long struggle, where each
nation inflicts and receives incalculable injury, peace is gladly
obtained on the basis of the condition before the war, known as the
_status ante bellum_. I cannot illustrate this futility better than
by the familiar example--humiliating to both countries--of our last
war with Great Britain, where the professed object was to obtain a
renunciation of the British claim, so defiantly asserted, to impress
our seamen. To overturn this injustice the Arbitrament of War was
invoked, and for nearly three years the whole country was under
its terrible ban. American commerce was driven from the seas; the
resources of the land were drained by taxation; villages on the
Canadian frontier were laid in ashes; the metropolis of the Republic
was captured; while distress was everywhere within our borders. Weary
at last with this rude trial, the National Government appointed
commissioners to treat for peace, with these specific instructions:
"Your first duty will be to conclude a peace with Great Britain; and
you are authorized to do it, _in case_ you obtain a satisfactory
stipulation against impressment, one which shall secure under our
flag protection to the crew.... If this encroachment of Great Britain
is not provided against, _the United States have appealed to arms in
vain_."[30] Afterwards, finding small chance of extorting from Great
Britain a relinquishment of the unrighteous claim, and foreseeing
from the inveterate prosecution of the war only an accumulation of
calamities, the National Government directed the negotiators, in
concluding a treaty, to "_omit any stipulation on the subject of
impressment_."[31] These instructions were obeyed, and the treaty that
restored to us once more the blessings of peace, so rashly cast away,
but now hailed with intoxication of joy, contained no allusion to
impressment, nor did it provide for the surrender of a single American
sailor detained in the British navy. Thus, by the confession of our own
Government, "the United States _had appealed to arms_ IN VAIN."[32]
These important words are not mine; they are words of the country.
[30] Mr. Monroe to Commissioners, April 15, 1813: American State
Papers, Vol. VIII. pp. 577, 578.
[31] Mr. Monroe to Commissioners, June 27, 1814: Ibid., Vol. VIII. p.
593.
[32] Mr. Jefferson, in more than one letter, declares the peace
_an armistice only_, "because no security is provided against the
impressment of our seamen."--Letter to Crawford, Feb. 11, 1815; to
Lafayette, Feb. 14, 1815: Works, Vol. VI. pp. 420, 427.
All this is the natural result of an appeal to war for the
determination of _justice_. Justice implies the exercise of the
judgment. Now war not only supersedes the judgment, but delivers over
the pending question to superiority of _force_, or to _chance_.
Superior force may end in conquest; this is the natural consequence;
but it cannot adjudicate any right. We expose the absurdity of its
arbitrament, when, by a familiar phrase of sarcasm, we deride _the
right of the strongest_,--excluding, of course, all idea of right,
except that of the lion as he springs upon a weaker beast, of the wolf
as he tears in pieces the lamb, of the vulture as he devours the dove.
The grossest spirits must admit that this is not justice.
But the battle is not always to the strong. Superiority of force is
often checked by the proverbial contingencies of war. Especially are
such contingencies revealed in rankest absurdity, where nations, as is
the acknowledged _custom_, without regard to their respective forces,
whether weaker or stronger, voluntarily appeal to this mad umpirage.
Who beforehand can measure the currents of the heady fight? In common
language, we confess the "chances" of battle; and soldiers devoted to
this harsh vocation yet call it a "game." The Great Captain of our
age, who seemed to drag victory at his chariot-wheels, in a formal
address to his officers, on entering Russia, says, "In war, _fortune_
has an equal share with ability in success."[33] The famous victory of
Marengo, accident of an accident, wrested unexpectedly at close of day
from a foe at an earlier hour successful, taught him the uncertainty of
war. Afterwards, in bitterness of spirit, when his immense forces were
shivered, and his triumphant eagles driven back with broken wing, he
exclaimed, in that remarkable conversation recorded by his secretary,
Fain,--"Well, this is War! High in the morning,--low enough at night!
From a triumph to a fall is often but a step."[34] The same sentiment
is repeated by the military historian of the Peninsular campaigns, when
he says, "_Fortune_ always asserts her supremacy in war; and often from
a slight mistake such disastrous consequences flow, that, in every age
and every nation, the _uncertainty_ of arms has been proverbial."[35]
And again, in another place, considering the conduct of Wellington, the
same military historian, who is an unquestionable authority, confesses,
"A few hours' delay, an accident, a turn of fortune, and he would have
been foiled. Ay! but this is War, _always dangerous and uncertain_, an
ever-rolling wheel, and armed with scythes."[36] And will intelligent
man look for justice to an ever-rolling wheel armed with scythes?
[33] Alison, Ch. 67, Vol. VIII. p. 815.
[34] Alison, Ch. 72, Vol. IX. p. 497.
[35] Napier, Book XXIV. ch. 6, Vol. VI. p. 687.
[36] Ibid., Book XVI. ch. 7, Vol. IV. p. 476.
Chance is written on every battle-field. Discerned less in the conflict
of large masses than in that of individuals, it is equally present in
both. How capriciously the wheel turned when the fortunes of Rome were
staked on the combat between the Horatii and Curiatii!--and who, at one
time, augured that the single Horatius, with two slain brothers on the
field, would overpower the three living enemies? But this is not alone.
In all the combats of history, involving the fate of individuals or
nations, we learn to revolt at the frenzy which carries questions of
property, freedom, or life to a judgment so uncertain and senseless.
The humorous poet fitly exposes its hazards, when he says,--
"that a turnstile is more certain
Than, in events of war, Dame Fortune."[37]
[37] Hudibras, Part I. Canto 3, vv. 23, 24.
During the early modern centuries, and especially in the moral night of
the Dark Ages, the practice prevailed extensively throughout Europe of
invoking this adjudication for controversies, whether of individuals
or communities. I do not dwell on the custom of Private War, though it
aptly illustrates the subject, stopping merely to echo that joy which,
in a time of ignorance, before this arbitrament yielded gradually to
the ordinances of monarchs and an advancing civilization, hailed its
temporary suspension as _The Truce of God_. But this beautiful term,
most suggestive, and historically important, cannot pass without the
attention which belongs to it. Such a truce is still an example, and
also an argument; but it is for nations. Here is something to be
imitated; and here also is an appeal to the reason. If individuals
or communities once recognized the Truce of God, why not again? And
why may not its benediction descend upon nations also? Its origin
goes back to the darkest night. It was in 1032 that the Bishop of
Aquitaine announced the appearance of an angel with a message from
Heaven, engaging men to cease from war and be reconciled. The people,
already softened by calamity and disposed to supernatural impressions,
hearkened to the sublime message, and consented. From sunset Thursday
to sunrise Monday each week, also during Advent and Lent, and at the
great festivals, all effusion of blood was interdicted, and no man
could molest his adversary. Women, children, travellers, merchants,
laborers, were assured perpetual peace. Every church was made an
asylum, and, by happy association, the plough also sheltered from
peril all who came to it. This respite, justly regarded as marvellous,
was hailed as the Truce of God. Beginning in one neighborhood, it was
piously extended until it embraced the whole kingdom, and then, by the
authority of the Pope, became coextensive with Christendom, while those
who violated it were put under solemn ban. As these things passed,
bishops lifted their crosses, and the people in their gladness cried,
_Peace! Peace!_[38] Originally too limited in operation and too short
in duration, the Truce of God must again be proclaimed for all places
and all times,--proclaimed to all mankind and all nations, without
distinction of person or calling, on all days of the week, without
distinction of sacred days or festivals, and with one universal asylum,
not merely the church and the plough, but every place and thing.
[38] Robertson, Hist. of Charles V., Vol. I. note 21. Semichon, La Paix
et la Trève de Dieu, Tom. II. pp. 35, 53.
* * * * *
From Private Wars, whose best lesson is the Truce of God, by which for
a time they were hushed, I come to the _Judicial Combat_, or Trial by
Battle, where, as in a mirror, we behold the barbarism of War, without
truce of any kind. Trial by Battle was a formal and legitimate mode of
deciding controversies, principally between individuals. Like other
ordeals, by walking barefoot and blindfold among burning ploughshares,
by holding hot iron, by dipping the hand in hot water or hot oil,
and like the great Ordeal of War, it was a presumptuous appeal to
Providence, under the apprehension and hope that Heaven would give the
victory to him who had the right. Its object was the very object of
War,--_the determination of Justice_. It was sanctioned by Municipal
Law as an arbitrament for individuals, as War, to the scandal of
civilization is still sanctioned by International Law as an arbitrament
for nations. "Men," says the brilliant Frenchman, Montesquieu, "subject
even their prejudices to rules"; and Trial by Battle, which he does
not hesitate to denounce as a "monstrous usage," was surrounded
by artificial regulations of multifarious detail, constituting an
extensive system, determining how and when it should be waged, as War
is surrounded by a complex code, known as the Laws of War. "Nothing,"
says Montesquieu again, "could be more contrary to good sense, but,
once established, it was executed with a certain prudence,"--which
is equally true of War. No battle-field for an army is selected with
more care than was the field for Trial by Battle. An open space in the
neighborhood of a church was often reserved for this purpose. At the
famous Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, in Paris, there was a tribune
for the judges, overlooking the adjoining meadow, which served for the
field.[39] The combat was inaugurated by a solemn mass, according to a
form still preserved, _Missa pro Duello_, so that, in ceremonial and
sanction, as in the field, the Church was constantly present. Champions
were hired, as soldiers now.[40]
[39] Sismondi, Hist. des Français, Part. V. ch. 9, Tom. X. p. 514.
[40] The pivotal character of Trial by Battle, as an illustration of
War, will justify a reference to the modern authorities, among which
are Robertson, who treats it with perspicuity and fulness (History of
Charles V., Vol. I. note 22),--Hallam, always instructive (Middle Ages,
Vol. I. Chap. II. pt. 2),--Blackstone, always clear (Commentaries,
Book III. ch. 22, sec. 5, and Book IV. ch. 27, sec. 3),--Montesquieu,
who casts upon it a flood of light (Esprit des Lois, Liv. XXVIII. ch.
18-33),--Sismondi, humane and interesting (Histoire des Français, Part.
IV. ch. 11, Tom. VIII. pp. 72-78),--Guizot, in a work of remarkable
historic beauty, more grave than Montesquieu, and enlightened by
a better philosophy (Histoire de la Civilisation en France depuis
la Chute de l'Empire Romain, Tom. IV. pp. 89, 149-166),--Wheaton,
our learned countryman (History of the Northmen, Chap. III. and
XII.),--also the two volumes of Millingen's History of Duelling, if so
loose a compend deserves a place in this list. All these, describing
Trial by Battle, testify against War. I cannot conceal that so great an
authority as Selden, a most enlightened jurist of the Long Parliament,
argues the lawfulness of the Duel from the lawfulness of War. After
setting forth that "a duel may be granted in some cases by the law of
England," he asks, "But whether is this lawful?" and then answers,
"_If you grant any war lawful_, I make no doubt but to convince it."
(Table-Talk: _Duel_.) But if the Duel be unlawful, how then with War?
No question was too sacred, grave, or recondite for this tribunal. In
France, the title of an Abbey to a neighboring church was decided by
it; and an Emperor of Germany, according to a faithful ecclesiastic,
"desirous of dealing _honorably_ with his people and nobles" (mark here
the standard of honor!), waived the judgment of the court on a grave
question of law concerning the descent of property, and referred it to
champions. Human folly did not stop here. In Spain, a subtile point
of theology was submitted to the same determination.[41] But Trial by
Battle was not confined to particular countries or to rare occasions.
It prevailed everywhere in Europe, superseding in many places all other
ordeals, and even _Trials by Proofs_, while it extended not only to
criminal matters, but to questions of property. In Orléans it had an
exceptional limitation, being denied in civil matters where the amount
did not exceed five sous.[42]
[41] Robertson, Hist. Charles V., Vol. I. note 22.
[42] Montesquieu, Esprit des Lois, Liv. XXVIII. ch. 19.
Like War in our day, its justice and fitness as an arbitrament were
early doubted or condemned. Liutprand, a king of the Lombards, during
that middle period neither ancient nor modern, in a law bearing date
A.D. 724, declares his distrust of it as a mode of determining
justice; but the monarch is compelled to add, that, considering the
_custom_ of his Lombard people, he cannot forbid the _impious law_.
His words deserve emphatic mention: "_Propter consuetudinem gentis
nostræ Langobardorum_ LEGEM IMPIAM _vetare non possumus_ ..."[43]
The appropriate epithet by which he branded Trial by Battle is the
important bequest of the royal Lombard to a distant posterity. For this
the lawgiver will be cherished with grateful regard in the annals of
civilization.
[43] Liutprandi Leges, Lib. VI. cap. 65: Muratori, Rerum Italic.
Script., Tom. I. pars 2, p. 74.